Chapter 15
Lucian
The blood is gone. Or at least it looks like it is.
My hands are clean. My sleeves have been changed. The cut on my arm is wrapped tight and hidden beneath fresh fabric. The mirror tells me I am composed again—measured, controlled, intact.
It lies.
When I step into the lobby, I expect to see him. Elias always waits near the front desk when he’s angry. He pretends he isn’t waiting to see my reaction when I get near him.
But he isn’t there.
Mara stands near the reception counter, coat folded over one arm, phone in her hand. She looks up the second she hears my footsteps.
Relief crosses her face.
“I’ve been waiting for him to come upstairs for twenty minutes,” she says. “Is he still with you?”
The words don’t land properly at first.
“I sent him to go home without me. With you,” I reply.
The silence that follows is immediate and wrong.
Mara blinks. “No. I haven’t seen him.”
My chest tightens.
“That’s not possible,” I say.
“He never came through here,” she insists.
I turn slowly toward the receptionist behind the desk. “Did you see Elias leave?”
The young woman straightens instantly. “Yes, sir. He stepped out.”
“Out where?”
“For a smoke, I assumed,” she replies. “About twenty minutes ago.”
The air in my lungs goes thin. I don’t say anything else, I just rush outside.
The front doors swing open and cold air slams into me. Snow is falling, thick flakes drifting sideways under a rising wind. The street outside glows faintly under lamplight, already dusted in white.
I scan the streets.
No one.
No figure pacing near the curb. No silhouette beneath the awning.
“Elias?” I call once, low but sharp.
The storm answers.
I step fully onto the sidewalk, boots crunching into fresh snow. I walk to the corner, checking both directions. The visibility is already worsening. Wind whips through the street and lifts powder into small spirals.
Nothing.
I turn back toward the building, heart beginning to pound with a rhythm I do not like.
Inside, Mara is already watching my face.
“He’s not out there,” I say.
Her expression shifts from confusion to something closer to fear. “Lucian—”
“Don’t panic, he might’ve just needed some air. I’m checking the cameras.”
The security room is two corridors down from my office. I push through the door without knocking. The tech inside jumps at the force of it.
“Pull exterior street feeds,” I order.
He scrambles, fingers flying over his keyboard. Monitors flicker to life, cycling through angles—front entrance, corner intersection, alley view, traffic light.
“Rewind twenty-five minutes,” I say.
The footage scrolls backward in fast motion until the timestamp hits.
There. Elias steps through the front doors.
He doesn’t light a cigarette.
He doesn’t hesitate.
He jogs down the street like there’s a devil on his tail.
“Track him,” I say.
The tech jumps feeds. Corner camera. He passes it quickly, cutting north instead of south.
Another camera catches him at the edge of the block.
He doesn’t slow.
Snow begins to thicken in the footage.
“Keep going.”
The view shifts to the park perimeter two blocks over. A lamppost camera captures him crossing the street without looking back.
My pulse spikes.
He doesn’t turn down the main path.
He veers left.
Toward the trees.
The camera at the park entrance catches him slipping between them just as the snowfall intensifies, white swallowing him whole within seconds. The feed loses him after that. The screen shows only storm and branches bending under wind.
I step closer to the monitor, as if proximity might pull him back into frame. “How long ago?” I ask.
“Seventeen minutes,” the tech answers.
Seventeen minutes in a growing storm.
The park leads into forested land that stretches for miles.
“Any interior park cams?” I demand.
“Only at the main paths,” he replies quickly. “Nothing deep in the woods.”
Of course.
I stare at the last frame of Elias’s figure disappearing into white.
He didn’t look back.
“Mara,” I say without turning.
She’s in the doorway clutching her coat like it gives her hope.
“He went into the woods.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “In this?”
“Yes.”
The weight of that presses against my ribs like a vice.
“I’ll go,” she starts.
“No,” I cut her off immediately. “You’re going home.”
“Lucian—”
“You’re going home. Tell Riley what’s going on. Have him send a rescue team to trail me,” I say, voice iron again. “I’ll call you when I have him.”
She studies me for a long moment, reading the edge beneath the calm.
“You’ll find him,” she says quietly.
“I will.”
Because there is no version of tonight where I don’t.
I turn back to the screen one last time, memorizing the direction he took.
North side of the park.
Left of the main path.
Toward the deeper tree line.
I leave the security room already pulling my coat back on.
The town car is already running by the time I step outside. Snow hits my face hard and cold, wind slicing through the air like a warning.
“Park entrance,” I tell the driver. “Now.”
The ride is short and also endless. The park is nearly deserted when we arrive, streetlights glowing faintly through heavy snowfall. The tree line looks darker than usual, the woods beyond swallowing light whole.
“Wait here. If I’m not back in two hours send the rescue team in,” I tell the driver.
He nods.
The cold is fucking brutal, biting through fabric and into bone. The snow has thickened to the point of near-whiteout conditions.
I move fast. The entrance path is still visible under a thin layer of accumulation. I scan the ground, searching for disturbance.
There.
Boot prints.
Half-filled already, but fresh enough.
I follow.
The wind howls through the trees, bending branches low and sending snow cascading down in heavy sheets. The deeper I go, the harder it becomes to track anything. His footprints blur into the landscape, erased almost as soon as I identify them.
“Elias, where are you?” I murmur under my breath.
My breath fogs in front of me.
The forest is dense. Twisting. Deceptive. I slow, forcing myself to think like he would.
He wouldn’t wander aimlessly.
He would move with purpose.
Toward the road?
Toward the next town?
Yes, he’d want out of my territory.
I try not to let the thought fester in my mind. I just need to make sure he’s safe. I’ll let him go. I promise to God if I find him safe and well, I’ll let him go.
I push further north as the storm intensifies.
My coat is soaked through within minutes. Snow clings to my hair, melts against my neck.
Then I see a freshly broken branch peaking from the snow. I move toward it.
A slope dips slightly ahead, and I descend carefully, boots sliding over hidden ice. The trees thin just enough to reveal something dark between them.
A structure. Relief hits so hard it nearly buckles my knees.
An old cabin crouches in the clearing, half-buried in snow. Smoke does not rise from the chimney. The windows are dark. My heart pounds violently in my chest. I cross the remaining distance in seconds and shove the door open.
It slams against the interior wall.
“Elias!” The word tears out of me.
Inside is dim and cold and still. For half a second I see nothing.
“Lucian?”
He’s in the corner of what passes for a bedroom, curled on a narrow cot, coat still on, arms wrapped tight around himself. His face is pale. Lips tinged faintly blue.
He looks up slowly.
Recognition floods his eyes.
“Lucian,” he breathes.
I drop to my knees in front of him so fast it hurts.
I have never knelt like this in my life.
Not in a boardroom.
Not in front of a rival.
But here—
I take his face in my hands, cold skin under gloved fingers.
“I have never,” I say, voice breaking despite my best effort to steady it, “been more scared in my life.”
The confession feels violent in its honesty.
He stares at me like he doesn’t know what to do with that.
“You could’ve died out here,” I whisper.
“So could you,” he replies weakly.
I pull him into me. His body shakes against me violently.
I wrap my arms around him and drag him against my chest, trying to transfer heat through layers of fabric and stubborn pride.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“You locked me up. You let me think you didn’t trust me. You—” He stops, swallows, breathing hard.
“I should have come to you, trusted you. I didn’t, and I see that now.
Hartford—my own advisor—took advantage of that weakness.
He lied to me, led me down a path I almost…
I almost became my father. Elias, I swear, I never wanted to hurt you.
I never wanted to make you feel like you were… just an object, just a prize.”
His chest rises and falls rapidly. “You think an apology fixes this?”
“I don’t know if it can,” I admit. “But I need you to know the truth. The real truth. I’ve made mistakes, yes, but I am not him. I am not my father in this. Not when it comes to you. Not now.”
He glares, green eyes shimmering with snow, frustration, and something I can’t quite name. “You’re the man who nearly ruined my life. And yet…” His words falter.
The cabin is silent except for the storm outside. I swallow hard. The raw vulnerability in his voice is a knife through the armor I’ve worn my whole life.
“I care, Elias,” I whisper. “I care more than I know how to express. I was a fool to let jealousy rule me. You—” I grip him hard against my chest. “You mean everything to me. Jesus, I love you so much.”
Elias’s shivering pauses for a moment at my words. “Everything, huh?”
“Yes. Everything.” My voice is firm, though my chest feels exposed. “I cannot promise I will never make mistakes, but I can promise I will never let anyone hurt you like Hartford tried to. I… I want your trust, Elias. Please, allow me to earn it back.”
He’s quiet for a long, agonizing moment. Snow drifts through a broken board in the roof, landing in his hair. I see him shiver, not entirely from the cold.
“Lucian…” His voice softens, barely above a whisper. “You almost broke me.”
“I know,” I say, into his hair. “And I am sorry. I will spend every second making sure I don’t let it happen again.”
His gaze drops, then flickers back up at me. The tension between us is thick, almost tangible. “You realize it’s going to take more than words?”
“I do.” My hand hovers over his shoulder, not touching, giving him space to decide. “And I will do whatever it takes. I only ask… Please, don’t walk away from me yet. Let me fix this.”
He studies me in silence. For the first time in hours, maybe days, he doesn’t flinch. His lips press together, a small sign of restraint, of thought, of considering.
I take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs.
“Elias, you are not a pawn. You are not a thing. You are not under my control. I was a fool to ever think of you as anything but your own man. But I… cannot bear to lose you. Please, allow me the chance to prove it. That’s all I ask. One chance.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just watches me. The storm outside howls like it’s testing us, forcing us to see how far we’ve fallen and how far we can still climb.
Finally, he exhales. The tension in his body doesn’t fully release, but it’s something. A crack. A glimmer. Enough for me to know that this conversation isn’t over, but it is a start.
And that is enough for now.
The wind rattles the cabin like some restless animal.
I can hear it in the eaves, in the thin boards, and I feel the echo of my own pulse in the silence.
Elias moves away and sits on the cot, knees drawn up, green eyes sharp as ever.
I keep my distance, though every part of me wants to cross the space and press him to me again.
Control is instinct, but I bite it back.
I need to let him see I am not forcing him, not this time.
“I shouldn’t have let jealousy rule me,” I admit, the words raw in my own ears. “Hartford took advantage of my weakness. He planted lies about you…about what you did, what you might do. It turned me into something I promised I’d never be.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches, and the weight of his gaze is heavier than any winter storm outside. The silence is long enough to sting. My chest aches, not from the cold, but from the rawness of admitting to him what I’ve been hiding from myself.
“You know, you really are something else, Lucian Romano. Always so controlled. Always so sure you can fix everything with words and a look. But you’re terrified, aren’t you?”
I blink, taken aback by the accusation, though I can’t deny it. “Terrified of what?”
“Of losing control,” he says, voice almost playful now, but sharp. “Terrified that someone like me, someone who actually has thoughts and feelings of his own, might slip through your fingers.”
I swallow, the truth heavy on my tongue. “Maybe I am.”
His lips twitch at the corner, and I see it, the smallest acknowledgment that he understands more than he lets on.
“I don’t want to run,” he says after a moment.
“I never wanted you to have to,” I reply.
Silence settles between us, but it’s different now. Not fractured. Steady.
“We’re leaving,” I say firmly.
He nods.
I reach into my coat and pull out my phone, shielding it from snow as I step toward the doorway.
Signal flickers weakly.
“Send the team,” I say into the line when it connects. “Cabin north quadrant of the forest. We need heat and transport.”
“How many?” the voice asks.
“Two,” I reply.
I hang up and step back inside.
Elias watches me carefully.
“Rescue team?” he asks faintly.
“Yes.”
He exhales.
I sit beside him on the cot and pull him close again, wrapping my coat around both of us as best I can.
We sit like that for a long while. Snow piles outside, the storm relentless, the cabin creaking under the weight.
I watch him. The green of his eyes in contrast with the pale winter light filtering through the boards is almost hypnotic.
He is alive, stubborn, defiant, and mine in the way that no one else could ever be.
And yet, he is also his own man, and that is what makes this reconciliation delicate, dangerous, and real.
“You’re either incredibly brave or completely stupid.” Elias quips.
“Both,” I admit. “But right now, all I care about is you.”
He finally shifts, sitting up straighter. There’s a small spark in his eyes—the challenge, the defiance, the boyish fire I can’t resist. “Don’t think this means you get to keep me on a leash, either,” he warns, but the corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting a smile.
“I don’t want to leash you,” I say, voice low. “I want to walk beside you. And if you’ll let me, maybe even protect you when the world gets too cruel.”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head slightly. “You really do think you can fix everything, don’t you?”
“I don’t know about fixing everything,” I admit, “but I can try. And I will. Always.”